


Dance For Me

by Osprayhurricane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 00:57:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16964721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osprayhurricane/pseuds/Osprayhurricane





	Dance For Me

 

If John had known such a supple little beauty even existed, let alone could be found dancing his little heart out at one of those specialized ‘escort’ clubs dotting the city, he would have have done everything in his power to find him.

As it happens, it’s James Sholto who suggests this particular club. _Highly_ suggests.

As in: “Watson, I don’t know what the hell is going on with you lately but you’re turning into a rage monster more often than not. I can’t fucking have you punching out all our cadets at the slightest infraction. You’re distracted and irate and pent up, and as far as I can tell all the waitresses and nurses and girls on the bus you end up taking home and fucking aren’t cutting it for you. So I’m going to give you something special.”

John’s been to a few of these places - after all, there’s nothing quite like watching a pretty girl or boy dancing for his pleasure. But not this one, _The Sweet Bee._

The first thing he noticed upon arriving is that it isn’t the typical club - well, no escort club is ever as seedy as say your average strip joint -  but this place is even even a cut above those.

This is something altogether more refined. Upscale. _Posh._

Pretty girls and boys scantily clad are immediately at his side with shots of the finest bourbon and scotch. John downs several to work off his nerves from the day. His high rank offers him certain so-called benefits. They say it’s a perk that he gets to oversee more than actively participate, so that now his days are filled with paperwork rather than having to teach drills or training exercises to underlings. Strangely enough, his days are ten times more exhausting than when he was out on dangerous missions killing people.  

James is quietly shuffling him through the throngs of comely escorts all sidling up and eager to be chosen as either John’s acquisition for the night, or more hopeful, to be collared. John is certainly up for fucking, and he imagines that’s why James has dragged him here, but the latter point has always had him uneasy with these sets of places.

Not due to the money aspect - his office ensures he could buy out the entire place if he so wanted - though paying for sex isn’t ever something John’s had to do. But these places thrive on the big sales: lengthy contracts, ownership deals. John doesn’t mind fucking a club slut here or there but getting saddled with essentially a slave practically terrifies him. It’s the fear of commitment, and John Watson would prefer to avoid commitment at all costs.

Still, now that he’s here and already horny he’s not going to pass on a good fuck. Maybe he’ll even buy one for the entire weekend.

“No, no. This way, John. There’s a dancer you’ve got to see ” James says, eagerly leading him away from a tanned, brown-haired boy eyeing John hard, clearly a kid with a daddy kink.

As they pass through a number of rooms, each with a stage or two, John takes note of the boys and girls are engaged in various dance routines, all of the exotic variety.

The room of their destination isn’t lighted with red or blue or dark tones. It’s oddly bright. A pretty yellow cast of light sets the otherwise simple stage. Yet, this room is packed to the gills. John and Sholto shove their way past the crowd to the front of the stage.

Sholto is practically vibrating at his side ready for the show. “Fuck, John. This boy is the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen. I promise.”

John nods and grunts noncommittally.

The music begins. Strange. It isn’t the deep bass, the rhythmic heartbeat, typical of club music. No, this is something almost sweet. Strains of a violin of a tune John can’t place but seem familiar float out above the audience.

From behind the curtain steps the loveliest creature John has ever seen in his life.

_Oh._

_Pretty._

Milk white skin nearly gleams in the lights and chocolate ringlets bounce atop the boy’s head as he gracefully dances across the stage. John Graceful: the word nearly doesn’t suffice. This dancer leaps and twirls about as if made of nothing but litheness and air, his movements pure like a floating ballet.

Forgoing the typical whorish type dress most exotic dancers employ, the slender teen before him is wearing a long, flowy, bright yellow chiffon type skirt. His barely-there halter top is made of a paler yellow translucent gauze. A thin belt of gold chains wrapped around a tiny waist jangling enticingly, the tinkle sounds echoed by a matching pair of bracelets.


End file.
